It Says That We're Saved
by Lux Hart
Summary: Unable to sleep one night, Cyril asks Ryan a question: What happens at the end of the bible?


**Author's Notes:** The story Ryan begins to tell is "Fair, Brown, and Trembling" - not mine.  
**Rating:** T language.

**Disclaimer: **Oz belongs to its rightful owners. No copyright intended. Fair, Brown, and Trembling belongs to its rightful owners. No copyright intended.

* * *

"Lights out! Lights out!" Sean Murphy called his warning before the pods of Em city were bathed in a darkness that would only cease eight hours into the future. For now, life was gone from the class covered cells, or at least, it was to the guards, which was the only thing that mattered, right?

Ryan O'Reily leaned back against the walls and pressed his eyes closed, grateful he could finally receive some sleep in this piss hole. A full day of dealing with Adebisi's shit in the kitchen was enough to make any man wish to fall into the land of dreams and never wake up again. If it weren't for the perks – stealing food, slinging tits, and a reasonable pay grade – he would have quit that job assignment years ago. As it was, he just waited for the inevitable day when Simon Adebisi overdosed on a cocktail of crack and heroin, maybe a little glass to help him along. That would be sweet.

"Ryan...?"

Ryan suppressed an annoyed sigh at the sound of his younger brother's voice. "What is it, Cyril?" Despite his attempts, Ryan couldn't keep the annoyance from tinging his tone. He hoped Cyril wouldn't notice, he wasn't interested in an argument ensuing between them – not at this time of night.

"I can't sleep."

"Stop talking, close your eyes, and you will." Ryan practiced what he preached, rolling onto his side and settling deeper into the white pillow. Prison beds were usually far from comfortable but, tonight, this one felt like the closest thing one could reach to heaven.

"Can't sleep, Ryan." Cyril was bordering on whining.

Ryan ran a hand through his hair in frustration. This was going to be one long night. "What do you want me to do about it?" He let that repressed sigh erupt into his voice. If Cyril was going to stay awake and annoy him, might as well try to make it interesting.

"Tell me a story."

Ryan clenched his jaw and pressed his eyes shut. "I'm not telling you a fucking story, Cyril. I'm tired – go to sleep."

He felt the bunk shake and Cyril's loud voice was at his ear. "Momma always told us stories."

Ryan kept his eyes tightly shut, hoping his brother would succumb to the exhaustion already taken over Ryan, and go back to bed. Ryan didn't _know _any stories, unless Cyril was interested in the drug trade schedule of Oz. "Cyril, Mom stopped telling us stories when we were like fiv—" Ryan cracked his eyes open to take in his brother. His eyes were downcast, almost like he was begging. With an audible sigh, Ryan shuffled over to let Cyril lie on the bed next to him. "What kind of story do you want to hear?" Ryan figured he could bullshit something which vaguely resembled the fairy tale Cyril would demand.

"Fair, Brown, and Trembling, Ryan." Though the words came out sounding quite different than the title, Ryan knew what he meant.

"Ah, okay." He closed his eyes to try and remember as much of the plot as possible. It was the one like Cinderella, wasn't it? The plot and words came flowing back to him, piecing together like a puzzle in his mind. "King Cu Rucha had three daughters –"

"He lived in TirConal, Ryan." Apparently Cyril's memory difficulties were _not _related to this particular piece of literature.

"King Cu Rucha _lived in Tirconal_." He stressed the additional words. Petty, yes, but he was still having difficulty staying awake long enough to recall this tale to Cyril. He was fucking exhausted. "He had three daughters, named Fair, Brown, and Trembling. Fair and Brown had nice clothes, and went to church every Sunday –"

"We used to go to church, didn't we, Ryan?"

So much for wanting a fairy tale. Ryan had a sneaking suspicion Cyril just wanted to get out of having to go to sleep. "We _still _go to church," Ryan pressed. What did Cyril think they did in the stadium every Sunday? Tell stories?

"Yeah, but remember Momma used to take us to the big church? The one with the paintings in the windows?"

He gave him a quizzical look. "You mean stained glass windows?"

Cyril shrugged, broad shoulders crashing into Ryan on the way down. Always having strength he couldn't control and hardly seemed aware of. Have a decade ago – had it really been that long? – that strength was something Ryan relished in to protect himself. Now Ryan feared it for Cyril's own safety and life.

"You miss going to church?" Ryan asked him, trying to keep his thoughts from straying to Cyril's injury.

"I miss Momma."

Ryan moved a hand to wrap around Cyril's shoulder, bringing his brother in closer and smoothing down his long hair. "I miss her too, buddy." He pressed his lips into the hair. This sharing and caring was _not _what he had planned for when Murphy called lights out less than an hour ago.

"Ryan?"

"Yeah?" Ryan asked, offhandedly. His mind was trapped somewhere in the past, somewhere between the existence of Oz and being trapped in a pod with a brother who shouldn't be the way he is. Who should have had a _life_, he deserved it more than any other of the assholes in here – more than even Ryan himself did.

"Do you think Momma went to heaven?"

Ryan moved his face to look at Cyril. "She had a good a chance as any."

"Ryan?"

"What, buddy?" Part of him was ready to tell Cyril to shut up and go back to bed, but another part of him said bite your tongue. This night was more peaceful than Oz had been in years, and it was time for Ryan to stop trying to fight that peace.

"What happens at the end of the bible?"

Ryan looked down at Cyril's wide eyes, so innocent and questioning. The way they _shouldn't _be. He was smart, a fucking genius even – way smarter than Ryan could ever hope to be – and these questions should have been answered with a click of his fingers. Cyril should be able to know things himself, not rely on Ryan, because, fuck, Ryan wasn't worthy of being asked. Still he was asking, those eyes still staring, so Ryan had to come up with an answer. Again and again, always with the questions and answers.

Ryan bit down on his lip, squinting in concentration as he tried to remember some Revelation's reading Father Ray may have mentioned in mass. He couldn't draw up any memory, but he figured Cyril wouldn't care where the knowledge came from. In a way, Ryan knew that all Cyril wanted was to hear something to look forward to and hold onto. If Ryan had the answer, he had to offer something – maybe something that was just wishful thinking on Ryan's part.

He pulled his brother closer. "It says that we're saved."


End file.
